It's a story from the depths of the human soul described by Clara Pinto Correia.
The secrets consume us. Even when we pretend they do not exist. They are like wounds that never truly heal. They are painful. Don't leave visible marks on the skin, but surface in the form of nightmares that frighten us. They change us. We are forced to flee from mirrors, others and ourselves. We cannot see the wind, tells this story, or rather the stories that transvestite a new reality, just on the surface. Nothing is as it seems however plausible it may sound. The main character obsessively pretends to hear what she wants, but that's not enough to mask her standardized existence, devoid of affection, which led her to seek that emotional security she craves for what does not exist and never existed. Pretends to be blind when confronted by the facts, deaf when the voices of reason arise and dumb so that she won't verbalize the fears that consume her. The lies piled up until one day ... she has to wake up. More than a story about the colonial war, this book by Clara Pinto Correia speaks of loneliness that lead the characters to mask the banality of their unbearable daily life without major surprises. It is futile to run from the true. It chases them even when desperately run in the opposite direction, as is the case of Mariana. Until one day, she also realizes that we cannot see the wind. Good reading.
